1978 Synthetic Writers

Chapter 563 "Dedicated to."

Jiang Niannian had already drawn the illustrations in advance, which was also part of the punishment just now.

Jiang Xian gripped his pen and wrote furiously.

When "The Little Prince" first came to mind, Jiang Xian was quite surprised because it was so thick—almost the thickest novel he had ever read.

However, after he looked through them, he realized that the reason they were so thick was because there were too many translations in various languages.

The Little Prince has a wide global reach and influence, and the variety of language versions is astonishing.

Since 1943, when The Little Prince first appeared, it was published simultaneously in both English and French versions.

However, the sales of these two initial editions were not high, and the total number of copies sold did not even exceed 1,000.

As time went on, the book gradually became popular, and many popular editions were subsequently published.

After The Little Prince was translated into Polish in 1947, the novel began to spread to Africa and Asia in the 50s. Since then, more than 20 new language versions of The Little Prince have been published around the world every ten years.

By 2000, this trend had not diminished but increased, because that year happened to be the centenary of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's birth, so new translations appeared every month.

According to statistics, "The Little Prince" has been translated into more than 270 languages, second only to the more than 2000 versions of the Bible.

However, this number is also an estimate, because accurately counting the number of existing versions is almost an impossible task.

After all, new versions of "The Little Prince" are constantly emerging around the world almost every month.

What came to Jiang Xian's mind were the hundreds of language versions of "The Little Prince," as well as the illustrations that came with each version.

Actually, The Little Prince itself isn't very long, but when you add all these things together, it seems like there's a lot of content.

Jiang Xian could have finished writing "The Little Prince" much faster, but the writing process was slowed down considerably because he needed to work with Jiang Niannian to draw illustrations.

Three hours later——

"Hey, I did it!"

Jiang Xian put down his pen and let out a long breath. The text of "The Little Prince" and the more than sixty illustrations drawn by Jiang Niannian were finally finished.

Of course, there was still work for Jiang Xuan to complete, which was to add these illustrations one by one to his first draft.

While writing, he left gaps between the text for these illustrations, and now all he had to do was slowly stick them on with glue.

This task wasn't complicated, but it wasn't easy either. By the time the last illustration was finished, it was already past 2 a.m.

That wasn't all. To prevent the glue from sticking together, Jiang Xian had to let the manuscript dry and lay it flat on the table, page by page.

The study couldn't hold it all, so it was moved to a less frequented area of ​​the living room and surrounded by chairs and benches to prevent it from getting stolen.

"Sigh, this is really meticulous work." Jiang Xian rubbed his waist and shoulders, yawned, and glanced at his watch. It was already past three o'clock. It was summer, and the sun rose early. It would be dawn in about two hours.

"It's been a long time since I've been this diligent with my creative work. I've really been slacking off," Jiang Xian sighed.

The creation of "The Little Prince" is now complete.

Jiang Xian felt quite accomplished as he watched a world-class classic emerge from his hands.

He hadn't pushed himself to this intensity in a long time.

Back when I was writing "Rice", I felt so depressed, but I managed to finish it.

And the moment it's finished, you'll feel refreshed all over.

Well, spending so much effort on something doesn't necessarily make you feel that great.

However, you know clearly that everything you do will be rewarded, which makes you unable to contain your joy.

After chuckling to himself in the living room for a while, the writer Jiang quickly and quietly washed up, then tiptoed back to the bedroom and climbed into bed. Zhu Lin was already fast asleep, so there was no need for any "public rations" tonight.

Jiang Xian lay in bed with his eyes closed for a while, but even though it was very late, he tossed and turned and couldn't fall asleep.

The Little Prince was born!
Jiang Xian was a little excited!

Peking University.

Early in the morning, Li Mingshuo rode his bicycle under the bike shed, grabbed his briefcase, and stepped into the building where his office was located. He saw a figure, paused, and then awkwardly turned around and walked in the opposite direction of the figure.

"Hey? Teacher Li!"

"."

Li Mingshuo closed his eyes, his facial features contorted, then quickly adjusted himself and put on a fawning smile.

"Director Qin! You're here so early."

"Ah."

"Have you eaten?"

"No, what about you?"

"Me neither. I don't have anything at home today. I'm thinking of grabbing a bite at the cafeteria later."

After exchanging a few pleasantries, the teacher, addressed as Director Qin, adjusted his glasses and approached Li Mingshuo.

"Teacher Li, has Jiang Xuan submitted his graduation project yet?"

"."

Li Mingshuo sighed inwardly, thinking that he couldn't escape what he wanted to avoid. "N-nothing."

"not yet?"

Director Qin frowned. "We can't delay any longer. We have to stop submitting on time. The students in the writing class aren't children anymore. They all have families and children. They're waiting to graduate from us and go back to support their families. What's the point of us keeping them studying?"

"Yeah yeah."

Li Mingshuo nodded, "But I think that since Comrade Jiang Xian promised to give it to me, he should actually give it to me. He wouldn't just make up an excuse to fool me, would he? He also told me that it's a children's literature work, and it sounds quite plausible to me."

"Children's literature?"

Director Qin thought for a moment, "Maybe it wasn't written well, and they're afraid of ruining their reputation, so they're unwilling to submit it."

"No way"

Li Mingshuo said no, but deep down he thought Director Qin's statement made sense. Jiang Xian, with his great reputation as a writer, might really not have written well?
Children's literature.

Well, from the very beginning, Li Mingshuo didn't have high expectations.

In fact, within the literary circle, there is a certain degree of disdain for children's literature.

Although this type of novel is not easy to write, from the perspectives of ideology, artistry, and technique, children's literature is of a relatively low level and belongs to "simple" writing.

Yes, Jiang Xian's "The Grass House" is indeed amazing.

Li Mingshuo now feels that "The Grass House" is not so much a novel as a beautiful painting, and not so much a work for children as a work for adults, awakening the emotions of their childhood.

However, good works are rare and hard to come by.

"The Grass House" is already top-notch enough. Given Jiang Xian's personality, he would probably only demand that he write a novel even better than "The Grass House," which would be quite difficult.

Li Mingshuo gradually began to have a guess in his heart.

Even if it wasn't because Director Qin was afraid of ruining his reputation, Jiang Xian probably felt that this novel couldn't surpass "The Grass House," so he was dissatisfied and delayed submitting it to them.

"Alright, in short, let's finish the graduation work as it's due. We'll discuss Jiang Xian's matter later; after all, this writer is a special case," Director Qin said.

"it is good."

After chatting with Director Qin about work for a while, Li Mingshuo was finally able to leave. He turned around and bumped into Xu Yang, another teacher from the writing class. Seeing Xu Yang's bitter expression, Li Mingshuo couldn't help but tease him:
"What? Is it about Jiang Xian again? If you ask me, waiting is too passive. You should urge them again. Authors are very lazy. If you don't urge them, they won't start writing. Otherwise, the editors in the editorial department would be anxious and stressed every day because they are urging the authors to submit their manuscripts."

"Look what you said."

Li Mingshuo rolled his eyes. "That's Jiang Xian. He has so many important tasks every day. Me, go and urge him? Who am I? I probably wouldn't even get to see him."

"Hey, do you think Jiang Xian might have forgotten again?"

The two of them entered the office while speculating about the various possibilities that Jiang Xian had not yet submitted his manuscript.

"Well, that's actually normal."

Li Mingshuo said, "How long has it been since I last went to see Jiang Xian? It's quite common for writers to spend a year or two writing a novel. It's understandable that Comrade Jiang Xian can't finish writing in such a short time. After all, it's not a diary entry. He must have high standards for his work."

"Who knows."

The two sat down and chatted. Not long after, a young woman appeared at the doorway and glanced into the office.
"Hello, who is Teacher Li Mingshuo?"

"Li Mingshuo?"

Xu Yang turned around and patted Li Mingshuo, who was pouring water, "Old Li, I'm calling you."

"Ok?"

Li Mingshuo put down the thermos and looked at the young woman at the door with surprise. She was slender, with heroic eyebrows and a pair of almond-shaped eyes. She looked very much like a familiar movie star, Zhu Lin.

"you are?"

"Hello."

Zhu Hong greeted Li Mingshuo, "Excuse me, are you Li Mingshuo, the teacher in the writing class?"

"Hmm? Yes, that's me. What can I do for you?"

"Um, Comrade Jiang Xian asked me to give you this manuscript."

"Comrade Jiang Xian's Manuscript"

Li Mingshuo was stunned for a moment, but quickly realized that Jiang Xian had asked this woman to help him deliver his graduation project.
“My brother-in-law, our director, is quite busy with work and doesn’t have time to come over himself. He didn’t want to trouble you to come and pick it up, so he specifically asked me to come and deliver it.”

"Okay, okay."

Li Mingshuo, who had been waiting for this manuscript for so long that he was practically turning into a stone waiting for his husband, was overjoyed. "Oh, you're too kind, Comrade Jiang Xian. You could have just called me and asked me to come and pick it up. There was no need for you to come all the way here in person."

"No trouble at all, it's nothing." Zhu Hong's every move exuded the refinement of a well-bred lady, making people feel very comfortable.

"Please come in and have a seat, and have some water," Li Mingshuo said.

"No, no, since the manuscript has been delivered, I won't stay any longer. I still have work to do," Zhu Hong said with a smile.

Actually, she had nothing on her mind, but she had her own plans. Peking University was her alma mater, and now that she was back on campus, she couldn't help but want to stroll around the campus again to see what changes had taken place since she left, and what parts remained the same.

"Alright, take care."

Li Mingshuo escorted Zhu Hong to the stairwell entrance before returning to his office with a satisfied air. He comfortably placed the manuscript Zhu Hong had brought on the table, took a sip of water, and sighed softly:
"Finally, another big job is done."

"Take a look! See what Jiang Xian wrote!"

The teachers nearby urged them on.

Li Mingshuo then realized that he had been so happy that Jiang Xian had submitted the manuscript that he hadn't even checked how well it was written.

Well, it's because I didn't have high expectations for his children's literature work that I didn't pay attention to the content immediately, but only reacted to the fact that Jiang Xian had submitted the work.

“So thick?”

Holding a stack of manuscripts from the People's Literature Publishing House, Li Mingshuo was first taken aback. Based on his experience, it was probably around 80,000 to 90,000 words long.

"Could it be that Jiang Xian wrote a novel of 80,000 or 90,000 words in such a short time? I want to read it as soon as possible." Li Mingshuo laid the manuscript paper flat on the table and was attracted by the opening paragraph.

[Dedicated to Jiang Niannian:]
Please forgive me, but I dedicate this novel to a child. I have three legitimate reasons for doing so: first, this child is more important than my own life; second, this child needs comfort; and third, she is also one of the authors of this novel.

If these reasons are not sufficient, then I would like to say:
"All adults were once children, but only a few of them remember it." I dedicate this novel to my daughter, hoping that she will not forget that she was a child at heart.

Therefore, I changed my dedication to:
Dedicated to Jiang Niannian of my childhood.
The opening dedication made Li Mingshuo ponder—no, savor—it for a long time.

He wrote the novel as a tribute to his daughter.

This is so shocking.

It can be said that what Jiang Xian wrote was not just a novel, but also a testament to his selfless and profound love for his daughter.

Teacher Xu Yang, who was leaning over to look, couldn't help but say, "If this novel is really well-written and interesting, and it gains a certain degree of popularity in the future, then I think the message in this novel will also be part of its warm 'power' and something that people will study repeatedly."

Of course, the writing class teachers wouldn't know that this dedication wasn't Jiang Xian's idea, because the original *Little Prince* already contained a very captivating opening dedication:
Dedicated to Leon Werth

Children, please forgive me for dedicating this book to an adult. I have a valid reason: this adult is my best friend in the world. I have another reason: this adult understands everything; even children's books. I have a third reason: this adult lives in France, suffering from cold and hunger. He desperately needs comfort. If these reasons are not enough, I dedicate this book to this adult's childhood self. Every adult was once a child. (Sadly, how many remember that?)

Therefore, I changed my dedication to:
Dedicated to Léon Werth in his childhood.
(I posted the wrong article. If it looks messy, please refresh the page. Sorry.)
(End of this chapter)